Unfinished Outtakes
by remedy25
Summary: Just some snapshots and behind the scenes flashbacks.
1. EPOV The (Ass)umption

Happy July 4th weekend, everyone! May you all be surrounded by family, beer, fireworks, and fried foods. I honestly am bewildered at reaching the 100-review mark, and I can only thank you all over and over again for taking the time to read my little story and leaving your thoughts. As philosopher Katy Perry once said, "'Cause baby you're a firework. Come on show 'em what you're worth."

So as a special thank you, I've decided to write an EPOV. Hopefully it doesn't suck. And no, I will not be focusing on anyone else's relationship than the ones I've already introduced (A/J, B/E, B/J). We all know who ends up together :)

The (Ass)umption

Edward

"I quit." My words of freedom land flatly, without any cadence of emotion. Like other bittersweet occasions, I automatically compartmentalize how I feel, and instead focus on my decision.

My ex-best friend and research partner, Ben, just scoffs. "You're not quitting. You're tied to two of our biggest projects, which you spearheaded, and besides me, you're the only other person who's billed more hours here."

I raise an eyebrow.

He rolls his eyes. "Ok, your numbers are higher than mine. But seriously-you're not leaving."

He punctuates his statement by leaning back in his expensive, Swedish chair, and he almost appears impressive-maybe even intimidating. He is the VP of one of the largest health research companies, after all.

But he was also my best friend in college, and we met while puking in the same bush outside of the Theta Chi frathouse.

Whoever said money doesn't buy class...was 100% accurate.

I glance around his desk, taking in the penthouse style, open panel windows, and the various metallic and minimalist furniture that probably cost more than the secretaries' salaries on this floor. Ben traded his college hoodie and sweatpants for a three figure suit and wing-tipped shoes, and I don't think he's ever gotten the irony of the situation.

I don't think he's ever stood in front of his mirror after getting dressed in the morning and realized, "Damn, when did I become a grade A douchebag?"

And, despite weeks of wrestling with my decision, I don't think he ever felt guilt over the cover-up.

I clear my throat and stand up straighter. "I turned in my two week notice, I've made arrangements with the other project directors, and I've cleaned out my office. Technically, I don't even need to be here right now. This was a courtesy call."

Ben frowns and starts to fiddle with the glass chess set on his desk (I wish I were kidding). "Look, I get it. Everything's kind of shitty right now, but it'll get better. Dude-we're practically in charge of this company right now. We get to make the calls. And we can correct our mistakes in the future."

His voice takes on a more optimistic note towards the end, as if he actually means what he's saying, but I know better.

Still, he's a previous coworker and close friend, so I figure I owe him a modicum of decency.

"Maybe we shouldn't. Maybe what happened is an indication that we shouldn't be the ones calling the shots," I explain slowly.

He throws the chess piece down and stands up, agitated. "I don't understand why you're throwing it all away-all the progress we've made-just because of one fuckup. People fuckup all the time, your highness. Sorry we can't all be as honest and dignified as you," he spits.

I just stand still, absorbing his rage. "It's not just one fuckup," I respond quietly. "It's not an error that can be easily fixed. What you and Tanya did was inexcusable and unforgivable. You're both incredibly lucky that no one died."

He winces and starts to pace around, like a wild animal that's been hopelessly trapped behind steel bars. "The settlements were more than generous for the families-"

"Yeah, I'm sure they'll be hugging their money as tightly as their hospitalized kids from the side effects of the medication that we apparently had no knowledge of." I clench my jaw and remind myself to breathe in and out.

From the very beginning, I knew something was wrong with the contract to MedRing, a promising but still relatively unknown pharmaceutical company based in Switzerland. While the company was vouched for by our other partners, the medication they were pushing, which promised to alleviate the effects of neurodegenerative disorders, seemed too good to be true.

Though I had repeatedly voiced my suspicions, Tanya and Ben, the other directors on the contract, decided to move forward. A year into the project, families were appropriately worried about their children, who comprised the majority of the target population, and exhibited severe reactions to the medicine. After conducting an evaluation, we found that not only did the medication cause the symptoms to worsen, but it also increased the patient's risk of other conditions like liver failure, cervical cancer, and infertility.

My response? Report it to the FDA and accept the appropriate punishment, wiping our conscience clean. Tanya, Ben, and the CEO's response? Slap the families with an NDA and pay them enough money to keep their mouths shut.

Most of these families were poor and vulnerable. Essentially, we gave them a poisoned apple and then bullied them to hide the rotten cores.

And people ask me why I have trust issues.

Like any skittish rat, Ben nervously asks, "So what does this mean? Are you actually thinking of going to the Board?"

I smile wryly. This is what I'd been waiting for. Not that he gave a shit about my career or my well-being, but because he was only thinking of himself.

I don't even think Tanya, his wife, was on his mind right now.

"I already have," I answer, watching him freeze. "But I guess when the CEO's daughter and her husband fuck up, it's not that big of a deal. Congratulations, Ben-you got the father-in-law you've always wanted."

For a second, I think he'll punch me, but I almost laugh at myself for the ludicrous suggestion. As if he would lift a finger to get something done.

Still, I wait for the inevitable anger and fake threat.

"You son of a bitch. After everything I've done for you-this company has done for you? Fuck you, man."

I nod. "Excellent. You could have also said, 'This isn't over', 'You'll regret this', and the classic-'Yippie Ki-Yay, Motherfucker'."

I don't bother to stick around and listen to the rest of his explosive rant, and instead button my suit jacket, grab the "World's Biggest Jackass" mug I had gifted to him after his promotion, and close the door behind me.

Good riddance.

It isn't ideal going to work for my father, who owns the company that I had competed with for the last five years, but I almost had no choice at this point. Every company, once they achieved a certain level of success, started to fuck around with the rules. Granted, sometimes it's not that big of a deal, but other times-as in the case with my previous place of employment-the results can be catastrophic.

I still have nightmares from listening to all the voicemails left on my office phone-all of the families' tirades, tearful pleas, and appropriate threats. We had injured the most precious and vulnerable people in their lives, and the only reason behind it was money.

It was always about the fucking money.

I enjoyed my work (when it was in the right hands), and even though I had sworn to never work with my father, wanting to prove myself and carve out my own path in the health research world, there was also no one I trusted more.

Would I have some benefits and flexibility just given the nature of our relationship? Probably; I'm not naive enough to dismiss the possibility. But I had been working for almost nine years, collaborating with some of the world's most renowned researchers and organizations, and if anyone wanted to play the "nepotism" card, then I would gladly show them my list of accomplishments and publications.

"This is wonderful. My boys finally working together-oh I'll have to visit more often now!" Esme grins, grabbing both my and Carlisle's shoulders. "Edward, sweetheart, have you started looking at apartments yet? You're welcome to stay here, you know. There's plenty of space."

I almost choke on my drink. I was already single, early 30s, and (momentarily) unemployed. If I moved in with my parents, I might as well just give up and start looking for cats and inflatable sex dolls.

I smile appreciatively, making sure to flash the dimple. "Thanks, mom, but I actually just moved into a 1 bedroom over on Capitol Hill."

She simply raises an eyebrow, and shoots me a, "You're cute but not that cute" expression. "Perfect, then I'll be over to help decorate. Be sure to text me the address. I can stop by sometime next week."

I stifle a groan. I should've known she would try the highballing technique.

Carlisle refills his lemonade and pats me on the back. "Esme, the boy is almost 30-" Close, I just turned 31 last October but thanks dad- "Don't you think he can buy his own home furnishings by now?"

Esme simply raises the other eyebrow. "Are you saying you could go to Crate and Barrel and pick out the appropriate items to create the same atmosphere I have in our lovely home?"

Poor Carlisle just blinks. I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know what Crate and Barrel is.

I wipe my mouth and start to stand up. "Mom, I'll be around next Monday and Tuesday for some last minute furniture to arrive and to have cable set up. You're welcome to come over anytime. Dad-I'll see you at the office on Wednesday."

He rubs his hands together like a toddler gleefully. "Sure, son. Be prepared-IHS is well-known for its hazi-I mean, unconventional welcome." He snickers and finishes the rest of his lemonade while my mother shoots him an exasperated but loving look.

I roll my eyes and hug them both, feeling my heart squeeze in my chest. While I treasured moments like these, there was still a leftover part of me that felt like the lost kid looking in from the window. Carlisle and Esme were the perfect parents, and I've never taken them for granted or forgotten how lucky I was to be adopted by them. But sometimes, I wonder if I've let them down. Sometimes I wonder if they wish they found me earlier, so I wasn't as reserved and skeptical as I am now.

Ultimately, it doesn't really matter. On paper, I was educated at some of the best schools in the country, traveled extensively throughout my 20s, and exemplified every inch the lifestyle of the 1%. People are often jealous of these experiences, and on a certain level-they should be. The life I was given is far better than the life I had, but things that sparkle and glisten are the most noticeable when they start to fade.

Eventually, the insatiable need for power and money become the sole motivations for living, and I was either too naive or too cynical to believe that would ever make me happy.

Then again, it took me a week before telling the CEO about the cover-up. It took me another week to resign. The college version of myself would have kicked my ass for waiting so long.

I close my eyes and lean back against my car seat, inhaling deeply. ABS, Ben, Tanya-that was in my past now. Yes, it was shitty, but I had no doubt that things could only improve from here.

 **Three weeks later**

I was wrong. Dead wrong.

 _I prefer Dr. Swan._

And I prefer having a co-worker who didn't just embarrass me on my first project, but I guess we're both shit out of luck.

I watch her stride out of the conference room, forcing myself to count backwards from ten, a calming exercise from my childhood.

Ten...ten...ten...ten…

Fuck it.

I push the doors wide open and take the long way back to my office, and I see a few associates quickly move out of the way or conveniently leave to go to the bathroom. I clench my jaw and try to separate my incoherent thoughts.

What the hell was I doing? Granted, when I first realized she was the co-director of the department I was presiding over, I was relentless. After all, given our introduction in which she assaulted me, I hardly think I was overreacting.

It didn't help when I found out that she was practically Carlisle's right-hand woman. "Bella is the best of us," Carlisle had told me with a wide smile. "She won't fall for anyone's bullshit, and she works twice as hard as any of the other directors." He rubbed his chin. "Maybe even some of the execs, to be honest."

I stared at him disbelievingly. "She assaulted me in a coffee shop."

Carlisle rolled his eyes. "She didn't actually hurt you-she sent a message. And that's why you shouldn't take things that aren't yours, a lesson I had hoped you learned after the brownie incident." He pointedly glanced at me.

I winced. Apparently the brownies at Louise Smith's fourteenth birthday party were for everyone, and not just my greedy little hands.

"Well, if she's as tough as you say, then she shouldn't have a problem with me," I reasoned.

Carlisle just snickered. "You two-I swear, it's like a damn Harlequin novel." He paused to frown, a rare sight, before shooting me an almost threatening look.

"As amusing as this all is, and as much as I trust you, son-make no mistake. If you hurt her…" he trailed off, unsure of how to finish, probably because this was his first threat, possibly ever.

My expression turned sour, and I dryly finished, "You'll kick my ass?"

He didn't smile. "No, I'll fire you."

Regardless of whether he was serious or not, I couldn't believe that someone like Bella Swan, who had no class whatsoever, earned Carlisle's loyalty. Yes, she was a hard worker, and had an almost impeccable record at IHS, but she was too casual, too impulsive, and too dramatic (erectile dysfunction? Really?) for someone of her position.

Was I hard on her as a supervisor? Sure. But I hardly doubt my overbearing tactics warranted her little stunts, clever as they might be on a certain, April Fool's Day level. So what exactly was my next move in this twisted chess game? And what did I hope to win or lose? I had repeatedly misjudged her, thinking she would back down each time I stepped over the line. Yet she not only stood her ground, but kept pushing it forward. It was infuriating, and if this were a few years ago, I might have continued plotting against her. As sick and twisted as it sounds, there was a thrill each time we confronted each other.

Safely in my office, I run my fingers through my hair and tug. It was clear from the past two weeks that I had made two mistakes.

My first mistake was underestimating my opponent.

My second, and worse mistake? Underestimating the chemistry between us.

It wasn't the pleasant, nonchalant kind of chemistry, dominated by shy glances and coy smiles. This was an all-consuming maelstrom of tension. And any ill will I had for her paled in comparison to the rage I felt towards my lack of control around her, the frustration of my not-so-pure thoughts-

The struggle between punishing her with another petty task versus shoving her up against the wall, fisting her hair with one hand, while crashing my mouth on her disobedient tongue-

Compartmentalize. And that's how I figure out what to do next. Two hours after the disastrous conference call that will no doubt reach Carlisle any second now, I realize three things:

I couldn't keep playing this game with her, not when I didn't have full control of the rules.

I shouldn't have any more ridiculous thoughts concerning her and those stupid skirts.

I wouldn't allow anything to happen between us.

 **Two weeks ago**

My phone vibrates and I quickly glance down, stopped at a red light. _Hey, I'm running a bit late. Just leaving now. See you in 10-15 min!"_ I chuckle, knowing this would happen. She was practically allergic to being on time. Not that I had anywhere to be at the moment. While this was usually one of my biggest pet peeves, she was the exception.

Plus, her obsession with those Housewives tv shows were a lot more problematic.

I park my Aston Martin next to the Mercedes, thankful that we were meeting in Georgetown. The last time we met up, it was at a Chipotle off of North Capitol Street, and my car had not only gotten broken into, but to add insult to injury-someone had urinated all over the front seat.

It was also my first visit to D.C.-an appropriate welcome indeed.

Deciding that the lemonade I had earlier couldn't keep me awake, I order a caramel frappuccino (something I was mercilessly teased about in college and grad school, but real men drink sweet coffee). While I wait for my drink, I stand to the side and quickly pull up my email, until I hear a gasp that causes me to look up.

A brunette in a tight red dress with deathtrap heels gets in line, crossing her arms and tapping her finger impatiently on her arm. For a moment, her eyes flutter closed and I wonder if she's just fallen asleep standing up. She goes up to order, high-heeled shoes and all (I don't understand why she doesn't just take them off) before retreating to a corner and rubbing her temples.

I allow myself to smirk, though not in her direction. Women like her were easily a dime a dozen in big cities, and while her hungover state and regret from her obvious one night stand were amusing to me, I also wondered what the hell she was doing in the nicest part of town.

Seriously-I think the inventor of toaster strudel was the one glancing judgmentally at her in the corner, muttering to his wife.

This is why I'm single, I remind myself. What was the point of flings and one night stands when all you got in return was a few minutes of satisfaction and a night of drunken regret?

I never saw the point, and even though this perspective caused others to question my sexuality, I didn't put in the effort to refute anything or to care.

"Caramel macchiato!" The barista shouts. At the same time, my phone vibrates again. _Right outside-where are you?_ I smile and text her back as I grab the coffee and take a sip. _Outside where? I'm in the coffee shop._

Just as I put my phone away, I feel a tap on my shoulder.

I turn around and see her. Though her body is clearly tense, her lips force themselves upward. Her left eye twitches subtly, and I briefly wonder if she's packing any weapons. "Excuse me," she starts. "You seem to have taken my coffee-my name's actually written on the side there."

Annoyed but slightly impressed at her direct approach, I glance down at the name. "Your name is Bailey?" I ask, feeling my phone vibrate again. She casually shrugs her pale shoulders before replying, "It's actually Bella," clearly hoping that I'll understand.

Well, I already took a sip of it, lady. Get over it.

Impatiently trying to end this encounter, I simply repeat her gesture and say, "Well then I guess it's not yours." For the first time I notice some college kids behind us, giggling and chatting, so I add nonchalantly, "Also, I think your friends are leaving without you."

Ok, that was kind of a dick move.

I turn around and grab my phone, seeing all the confused "I don't see you?" texts, and quickly start typing out a response. Just as I'm about to hit send, I feel something kick me, causing me to lurch forward. I hobble, trying to find my balance. Coffee spills to the floor, and I hear an "Oh heavens!" from the elderly couple.

What the fuck was wrong with this town?

Not even bothering to mentally recover, I whip around and assess her. Short, skinny, with just a light enough tint in her hair to know it was highlighted. Last night's make-up had not stayed in place, and I was afraid to bump her head, lest woodland creatures crawled out.

I needed to make sure she knew this would not end well for her. So I coolly respond, "This is why I never come here. They always forget to take the trash out."

And I expect her to immediately apologize, maybe even tear up a bit, shoulders hunched downward, eyes big and pleading. Most of the women I knew wouldn't have assaulted me in public in the first place, but even I figured she would have enough sense to apologize. Given her current state, I highly doubt she had any self-respect left.

Instead, I watch her straighten, planting her stance, with her shoulders rolled back, before she lifts her furious gaze to mine and spits, "Fuck you."

She tosses her hair back (something I thought women only did in TV shows) and struts away, stumbling a bit on her heel. I let out a deep breath and suddenly notice the patrons staring expectantly at me. Like a jackass, I take a bow, announcing, "I'll be here all week, folks. Thanks."

I rub my jaw tiredly, struggling to process what just happened. I had gotten attacked over a cup of coffee and instead of apologizing and admitting guilt, my attacker cursed me out and ran away.

I hate this city, I really do.

"Hey," I hear above me, and I quickly put my phone away and stand up to hug her.

She looks almost the same, except for the wrinkles around her eyes and face, no doubt caused by the added stress over the past few years. Her long, dark hair curls around her shoulders, and clear blue eyes fill with warmth as they fix on mine.

"Hi," I grin. "It's been too long. How's everything?" We both sit across from each other, and it feels like we're in our pre-teens again, whispering secrets and "What if" statements to each other in the dark.

She smiles hesitantly and pushes back a lock of her hair behind her left ear. "It's been better," she responds. "I've been going to a few job interviews and there are some promising leads." Her eyes brighten. "One of them said I could possibly start as an associate given my experience."

My eyes widen. "That's amazing," I answer. "We should celebrate." She laughs and I'm relieved of her recent change in mood. When I last saw her, she had broken down in my arms, confused and afraid of who would hurt her next.

"I don't have the job yet," she teases. Her smile dims a bit. "Plus, they haven't done an extensive background check, and if they find something-"

"They won't," I reassure her. "We both know that."

She looks down and nods, and I grab her hand from across the table. For a minute, we exchange a look of reassurance, reminding ourselves that everything would work out the way it should. This was our calibration of reality, our breath of air from being submerged, our little nod to the past that despite how shitty everything could be-we would survive.

She squeezes my hand from across the table. "Thanks, Masen."

I squeeze back. "Anytime, Alice."

A/N: Breathe with me, people. Answers will be coming soon.


	2. BPOV The Promise

Hi all :) So as we approach the end of Jasper's POV, I couldn't help but squeeze in a flashback that demonstrates the depth of their previous friendship and provides some context towards Bella's internal struggles when they started in her early 20s. Sorry for the fakeout-a new chapter will be posted this weekend. Oh, and yes, this does touch upon some dark territory/sensitive material. So proceed with caution.

Outtake #2: The Promise

3 years ago

Bella POV

The door swung open, and I mechanically threw the keys onto the scuffed surface of the bookshelf, in the exact same spot they were in this morning. The purse sloughed off of my fingers as the jacket shed from my shoulders. With a slight tremble, I walked to my couch, as pristine as the day that I unwrapped it from its plastic, and allowed myself to collapse.

Feelings of helplessness and general anxiety swarmed around my nerves like a haze of militant bees, buoyed by a cloud of nausea. Instead of distracting myself or recalibrating through optimistic reminders and vague promises of what was starting to appear like the illusion of control, I simply pulled my knees to my chest and surrendered.

"I don't know if I can do this anymore," I sobbed. "I just-I want to go somewhere. I want to disappear."

There are many moments, stereotypically in our early 20s, when we feel lost. Maybe it's because we feel like we have no options, or we do but have no idea what to choose. We struggle over who we are, who we want to be, and who we should be. We want to be happy and have an idea of what that looks like, but no road map to get there. Sure, this isn't something new-we've known this since leaving the supposedly safe haven and routine of school, and we dismiss this growing black hole of insecurity and fear by assuming that future happiness will come. That we will get whatever we think makes us happy-an adoring partner, a dream job, an apartment filled with all the shit from your Pinterest board. It's the future certainty that calms our present uncertainty, because we're conditioned to want security even when we're weightless.

"I don't know if I can finish school," I admitted quietly, to no one but myself. "I don't-"

My head hit the hardwood floor with a thud and I swallowed my wince, followed by the immediate throb of pain. I lay there pathetically, tremors creating temporary spasms, like the errant twitches of a nerve upon stimulation. My phone vibrated again, and I closed my eyes, unable to tell the difference between guilt and nausea as both caused me to curl into myself.

Pathetic.

I have to stop crying. I have to get up. I have to stop being so fucking pathetic when everything is fine. I live in one of the most desired cities in the world; I own my apartment; I can afford so many things others can't. People are dying, Bella. People are dealing with real shit in their lives and you're sobbing into a carpet you bought at Crate and fucking Barrel like you have real problems.

You're breaking down over nothing. You are-

Nothing.

A creeping coldness, like the imprint of an icy hand, started to grip my stomach, and I clenched my jaw, if only to prove I still had some control over my muscles and reflexes.

Was this-am I…?

No, no. I know what that feels like. I know the warning signs. But this isn't that.

This wasn't some romanticization of pain or release; this was a desperate attempt to escape. I didn't want to erase myself, but I did want to start over.

Reset.

Reset.

Why wasn't this working?

My phone vibrated again, so I finally reached over and winced as I adjusted to the glare. Three text messages and two missed calls urgently flashed across the screen, but I pressed ignore. Robotically, I went to my contacts and clicked the call icon without any hesitation.

"Bella? Where are you?"

I swallowed deeply and answered shakily, "I'm home. Can I-can I come over?"

"Yeah, yeah of course. I'll be right here."

Gratitude and relief broke through, and for the first time in a few hours, I slowly stood up by myself.

It's just too bad I was running to someone else.

30 minutes later

"Hey," Jasper's blue eyes radiated with concern and anxiety as he assessed me, taking in the greasy hair, the wrinkled work dress, and the disheveled mess. "Are you-"

"Don't," I interrupted, anger briefly generating a spark that had been dormant for the past few days. "Don't ask me, like the hundredth person, if I'm OK. Because I-I don't know. I just-I don't."

He nodded solemnly, his hands in his pockets, leaning against his bookshelf. I couldn't tell if he was a trainer trying to calm the pacing tiger down in his cage, or if he was the one who was trapped.

"All I've done in the past week is come home, collapse on the floor, and sob my fucking guts out," I confessed, and right on cue, the waterworks started up again, like any words I uttered were responsible for turning the valve.

"But I don't know why. I don't know what's happening that makes me feel like this. I just feel lost, Jasper. I feel like I don't know why I'm here anymore or what I'm even doing. I mean, God, I'm alone, trying to convince myself that I can finish a Ph.D. while working full time, and I can't. I'm not this person. I'm not-"

Meltdown. Count backwards, and breathe slowly. Try to express how you feel in words. Find concreteness in emotional chaos. Find your balance. Find control.

Fuck that. I sunk into the leather cushions and rocked back and forth, completely aware of how pathetic I looked and not giving a shit. A light pressure registered, and I glanced up to see him sitting down next to me, his hand on my shoulder gently pushing me towards his side until I fell into his chest.

"Ok. ok." He nodded again, seemingly understanding what I'd been trying desperately to elaborate.

We lay there together, entwined platonically (or so he thinks). I wanted to scream. It was unfair that the greatest comfort I could receive also derived from my greatest internal conflict. I'm in love with you, I allowed myself to voice in my head, for the very first time.

"Hey," he says, gently wiping my tears away from my face. "For what it's worth, you're Bella fucking Swan. You are a kickass, brave, honest, loyal, intelligent, insightful, and beautifully strong woman. You don't owe anyone anything, and you can feel however you want to."

I fought away the familiar desperation and hunger to absorb the closeness and intimacy. Normally, I drew lines to prevent further torture, but this time-I couldn't.

He kissed the top of my head and continued to hold me. "Do you want to talk about it?"

The heaviness of exhaustion and dehydration slammed into me, and I felt my shoulders lift briefly. "Not really. I should, though, right?"

I extricated myself from his arms, rubbing my own to replace the warmth I've lost.

I had given up-questioning my lifestyle, feeling like I was masquerading as this educated, strong woman when I would always be a child seeking an absent parent's approval.

Hysterical laughter bubbled up in my chest like an uncontrollable chemical reaction. "I live in my own apartment, in a high-rise. I can practically see the Washington Monument out of my fucking window. I work at one of the most highly respected consulting firms and I attend one of the best programs in the country. And you know what I noticed yesterday? I noticed that I have a fucking egg peeler. I spent money on a tool that does something humans have done throughout millennia with their hands! I mean, what the hell was I thinking?"

The sight would have been comical, if not for the mixture of snot and tears running down my face.

"I know you and everyone else think I have everything under control. And sometimes I almost feel like I do. But I don't. I'm a fraud, Jasper. And I don't deserve any of this. Not really."

He leveled his gaze at me, arms crossed. "So what's the solution?"

I blinked, slightly off balance. "What?"

He cleared his throat and repeated, "What. Is. the. Solution?"

"I don't know. I just-I need to leave. I want to start over. I want to run away and shut myself off until I don't feel anything."

As expected, Jasper's unwavering gaze turns sympathetic, but it's absent of pity. If anything, there's a look of speculation, analytically assessing the information I've presented to find the best solution.

He blinked and looked away. "Yeah, I get that feeling," he sighed, sitting back down at the base of his bed, patting the spot next to him and looking at me expectantly. "I know how you feel. And I'm not saying that because I think it'll make you feel better, or because it's the bullshit everyone says to avoid dealing with the awkwardness of something real. I get it, Bella. Which is why you should believe me when I tell you that the last thing you want to do is shut everyone out."

He picked at a loose thread on his carpet and swallowed audibly. "I thought that being alone would make me feel better. And it did, at times. But it also made me feel even more helpless, and it didn't help me figure out what I wanted."

His gaze fell upon me like the first snowflake touching the ground, ephemeral and fragile. "When I met you...I knew that any kind of peace or whatever I'd hoped to find by hiding couldn't compare to how much better I felt with you. I realized that just because people can fuck you up, doesn't mean they can't help you heal."

I smiled tremulously even as I felt the existing crack in my chest expand.

He placed his hand on my shoulder casually, as if didn't brand my skin. "You were there for me, so I am here for you. You're one of my best friends, Bella."

You'd think these words would hurt me, but they only fueled my desire for something more. Look at us, I wanted to yell. We're not just friends. This isn't a sitcom where we can pretend we're platonic, and be at each other's weddings.

Still, I know I'm way too much of a mess to comprehend all my shit with him right now. Sure, it was related to the giant jumble of strings that held me together while threatening to tear me apart. But this breakdown wasn't just some sad reaction to unrequited love. I genuinely didn't know what I wanted anymore. Did I want to finish school? Did I want to stay with the company? Did I want to stay in D.C.?

Did I want to continue pretending to be the girl who bought designer clothes and fancy gadgets and went out to happy hours to flirt and laugh and ignore the gnawing insecurity that she might not deserve any of it?

I'm a naturally dramatic person-this I know. There's been plenty of times where I felt like the world was ending, but I would always be able to remind myself that it would be OK. And then I would watch Netflix or go out with friends, and focus on something else.

This was the first time in my adult life when I truly didn't know if I would be ok.

"Bella!" A rogue hand waved in front of my face, and I jerked around to see Jasper, slightly out of breath. He frowned. "I called your name repeatedly."

I simply shrugged. "Sorry."

He ran his hand through his hair. "Listen, Bella. I'm not going to be able to give you all the answers. But you and I both know this will pass. You will be fine. All those things you mentioned? School, work, and shiny things-those don't define you. Take it from someone who's known you for several years now-you could have the worst resume in the world or look horrible on paper. But who you are wouldn't be different. It's not dependent on whether you have some fancy degree or apartment or office-you genuinely care about others and try to show it. You see and do good whenever you can, and you understand and forgive others when they think they're unworthy."

He smiled gently at me. "You are uniquely amazing, Bella Swan. So if you feel like you're pretending to be someone you're not, or someone you don't deserve to be-just know that the one thing you should never doubt is your worth. And coming here, opening up to me about this-that doesn't make you weak-it makes you fearless."

When I was a kid, one of my favorite Disney scenes was when Cinderella, in her tattered, home-made dress that had been cruelly ripped apart by her stepsisters, magically transforms into the iconic gown she wears to the ball. I've mimicked that scene a few times, mainly when getting ready to go to some black tie event or ceremony, with the goal to feel beautiful.

But after hearing Jasper's little speech, I realized-with my hair messily piled atop my head, mascara long gone, after hours of crying and heaving-that this feeling transcended any desire to be beautiful. I felt wanted and comforted and seen. He acknowledged my greatest fears and deepest insecurities and then shifted my perspective to see that regardless of how powerless and undeserving I felt, I was someone worthy.

And with that, I let myself run over the last remaining roadblocks of reason and practicality, stumbling forward with no urge to look behind as they shrunk into mere specks. Crash. Too late, I thought, as I felt my head surpass the pace of my feet, falling deeper and deeper, only concerned with the thrill of the sensation and not bracing myself for the impact.

I've never told anyone about what happened, not even Rose or Emmett. At first, I carried it with me like a fun little picture or knick-knack you find in your pockets that instantly brings a smile to your face. Later, I would use it as a desperate reminder of the shared intimacy we once had, when he started to pull away. It became a photograph that I would constantly return to, greedily memorizing the colors until they were almost bleached from the surface.

I had no idea that this memory that I once cherished and clung to would be poisoned.

That's the problem, isn't it? We're told that being alone is the worst thing in the world. We want to surround ourselves with people who care about us, and we automatically open ourselves to possibilities of further happiness as long as we pay the price of becoming more vulnerable. After he left, I slowly began to erase or rewrite this memory, so all that lingered was his advice, which had given me strength in a time when I needed it most. Eventually, I even fooled myself into thinking that it was Rose or Emmett or Carl who had offered this comfort, which I adopted as my own mantra. When all the generic advice of "everything will be ok" and "you'll be fine" failed, I had these words to keep my head above water. And I never doubted my worth again.

It's only when I see him at the bar, for the first time in two years, that the memory resurfaces in high definition, and I wonder if I've been drowning this entire time.


	3. Textversations Part I

Hey everyone! It's been a crazy couple of months with work and moving. I have been working on the next chapter of Unfinished, and it's 70% done, but for now enjoy (?) this outtake between Bella and Jasper right after the most recent chapter. Thanks for all your kind comments and support; sorry it's been so long but see you all soon!

 **Note: Unbeta'ed but hopefully still coherent; the ellipses are meant to be the typing bubbles aka the three dots of hell and the italicized text is the original text before it was deleted.**

Thanks for the birthday text -J

How've you been? -J

Good, just busy with work. -B

Yeah. You still working on program evaluation? -J

Yep. You still working on policy...stuff? -B

That's what it says on my business card. That and my ability to help drain swamps. -J

That's right. How's your soul doing again? Still intact? -B

Ha. I lost it the day I became an intern. That's what happens when you look Mitch McConnell in the eye. -J

And you were awake? -B

I was caffeinated. -J

...

I'm guessing this isn't just a check-in text -J

...

You were not this perceptive two years ago -B

I wasn't a lot of things two years ago -J

...

Have you seen Alice since you got back? -B

Once. -J

I took your advice and I think she and I are on the best terms we can be -J

So thank you. -J

Good. Really. -B

...

Something on your mind? -J

...

Had you met Edward before the afterparty? -B

No, but Alice used to talk about him, mainly the time they spent before college. I knew they were close, but I never saw them together. -J

Ok -B

...

This might be a stab in the dark, but his relationship with Alice shouldn't affect whatever's going on between the two of you.-J

Shouldn't it? -B

Don't tell me it isn't all a bit fucked up -B

Sure it is. But it doesn't have to matter. Not if he's really worth it. -J

You're awfully half-glass full -B

Just finished the last of the bourbon, so it's actually empty now. -J

Ahh. Lemme guess, you're staring out the window watching the sunset? -B

I'm enjoying the sights that the city has to offer -J

What are you doing? -J

...

...

...

 _I'm wondering_ -B

 _I don't k_ -B

 _I'm trying_ -B

I'm prepping for a meeting tomorrow. And the whiskey on my cabinet is really distracting. -B

You drink whiskey? -J

I do now -B

Impressive, Swan. -J

Yep. Gotta run now. -B

Me too. -J

...

...

 _How are you feeling_ -J

 _Any plans for_ -J

 _Are you going to be ok next_ -J

Let me know if you want company next Wednesday. -J

...

Thanks. Have a good night -B

For the record, I'm glad we're not shouting at each other at the Lincoln Memorial -B

Progress -J

For the record, this is you saying goodbye, and this is me not letting you. Talk soon. -J

* * *

Some foreshadowing for the next two chapters :) Let me know what you think!


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